Tokiism
by Alpha Hydra
Summary: Skwisgaar is not the religious type. one-shot and slash: Skwisgaar/Toki


**Disclaimer: **Metalocalypse and all related names, places, people, and things are property of, well, not me. No copyright infringement intended and all that business.

**Warnings:** Slash, probable OOC-ness, and like, Skwisgaar thought-cursing.

**A/N:** So. This was supposed to be drabble-length, and oh my. It ended up being longer. How strange. Also, been putting off writing anything for this fandom because, in all honesty, their accents scare the crap out of me. I don't want to be responsible for effed up accents and flames as a result of such. Well. Enjoy, I guess.

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Skwisgaar was never a very religious person. Had he been the more introspective sort, he would have traced his ideology (or lack thereof) back to his mother. Growing up with Serveta didn't exactly give him the best sort of role model for a pious lifestyle, or any other kind of dildo morality. No, for the better part of his life, Skwisgaar only believed in two things: sex, and his guitar.

For years Skwisgaar buried himself in his isolated world of heavy metal, determined to choke on the brutal music that surrounded him. He begged the music with his fingers to seep into the walls of the dirty whore house he shared with is mother and cure the disgust permanently boiling in the pit of his stomach.

And for a while, it nearly worked. In his early days, he was never without a band; countless refuges to shelter him from the sick world his mother reveled in. And, though hollow, his life was not unsatisfying. He nearly drowned himself in the way his fingers dashed across the neck of his Gibson, satisfied in the way his amp could so easily wash away the sounds that made him so sick to his stomach. His guitar alone could wash away the filth.

And then, he got swept up in the vast machinery that was Dethklok. He was stolen away from Sweden and that putrid, stinking hole he called a home, and honestly, Skwisgaar couldn't say he cared much. If he never saw his homeland or Serveta again, it would be too soon.

And sure, he still fucked the sluts and played his guitar so often it bordered obsession, but his opinion of both had cooled somewhat around the band's uncaring attitude. He became the Ice King, the fastest guitarist in the world, which left him with no room to be secretly worshiping his guitar.

Now, Skwisgaar considered himself either philosophically existentialist (on his good, nonviolent days), or actively anarchist (mostly when drunk).

Or, at least, he had. Until he'd started fucking Toki Wartooth.

It had started out as a drunken blowjob; payment for erasing Skwisgaar's guitar solos on their latest album, he'd said. Then it was a casual fuck, no big deal, same as always for him. He assured himself that the only real difference was that now, it was just Toki he was fucking.

Except, that had somehow turned out to be a lie too. He wasn't sure how or when, but at some point, he realized that there was something more between them. It was the kind of something that sprung up from nothing: unbidden, unnamed, unexpected, not at all unwanted. Still, it was there; tangibly, springing up from the sounds of their commingled guitar riffs, or quietly encasing them as they sat together in the recreation room, Toki with his bowl of candy and Skwisgaar still clutching his guitar. Yes, this—this _something_ was the kind that Skwisgaar and his stunted affectionate side could never hope to acknowledge aloud, let alone express coherently to Toki.

But he hoped that Toki understood. Hoped he knew that to Skwisgaar, Toki was everything. That Skwisgaar heard Hœnir (God of Creation) in the way Toki picked up his guitar and played a tune by ear without having to practice. That Skwisgaar saw Dellingr, 'the dayspring', every morning when Toki opened his ice-blue eyes and the weak sunlight would bounce through the color happily, as if the day could not properly begin without dancing with the color of his eyes. He hoped Toki knew that he felt Baldr, God of fucking _beauty,_ when his fingertips skimmed across the hot lines of Toki's body; traced the familiar dips, curves and muscles of the other's skin as they lay in bed together.

And just when Skwisgaar thought he couldn't fall any harder, he watched Toki snap at the Snakes 'N Barrels reunion concert. And then, Skwisgaar saw Odin, in all his fiery, blood-thirsty glory, gleaming in the crowded audience as he pummeled an annoying fan into a bloody mass on the cement floor. And that was when Skwisgaar knew for sure.

He was never very religious.

But he could spend hours watching, listening to, bickering, fucking, cursing, hating, fucking _worshipping _Toki Wartooth.

Outside, a crow cackled obscenely to something far off in the distance. The noise was met with an answering howl from a yard wolf. Skwisgaar sighed and collapsed into his bed, staring up at the ceiling and trailing a hand across his fur covers. Around him, the room was set ablaze by the setting sun, dark red and purple stains spattered across the white walls, carpet.

He knew Toki would creep in soon, after darkness set and the rest of the band was getting smashed or laid.

And he also knew that tonight, he'd try to say it. He'd tell Toki exactly how he felt, so that he wouldn't have to worry about his personal God straying from him. He tried the words out on his lips silently; half afraid he was physically incapable of speaking so truthfully, even to one he so believed in. The shapes of the words felt alien on his tongue, and he panicked for a moment, fearing that perhaps he might be wrong. That this was wrong. All wrong, wrong, wrong.

The door to his room creaked open quietly, and a dark shape stood at the doorway, bathed in the fading light of dusk. He looked the same as always: blue tee shirt, jeans, hands fisted at his sides in a mistakenly threatening stance, blue eyes sparkling paradoxically with innocence and wickedness. He was perfect.

Skwisgaar opened his mouth to say so, but the words died on his lips, the breath escaping as more of a contented sigh than anything else.

The wolves howled a second time, and the light faded from the room, and Skwisgaar's fears were assuaged. He watched as Toki strolled over to the edge of the bed and crawled into Skwisgaar's temple, mimicking Skwisgaar's position by lying on his back, hands behind his head.

"You knows Toki," Skwisgaar began, before his pride got the better of him and forced him to shut up. "I's been thinkings…" Toki turned his head slightly to the side; the only indicator that he was actually listening. "Maybes, you not so dildoes after alls, ja?"

Toki stiffened for a second, before turning onto his side to watch Skwisgaar intently. After a moment, a grin began to spread over his face, a wave swelling and breaking onto a rocky shore.

"Takes you longs enough," he said smugly. "Yous not so didoes either, Skwisgaar."

Then with a small, platonic peck on the cheek, Toki rolled over and closed his eyes. Skwisgaar pretended to sigh, a large grin on his face. Now, he was content, and sleep would claim him within minutes.

Because it wasn't exactly what he meant to say, but for now, it was enough.

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**A/N:** Up there, Norse God references. And actually, if I had to peg Skwisgaar as anything religious, it wouldn't be that, but this popped into my head, and it seemed more….Skwisgaar to me than anything else. So, yeah.


End file.
